Demon Lord, Retry! Volume 5

By Kurone Kanzaki and Makoto Iino

Having rescued Luna’s childhood friend, a demi-human named Eagle, from the Tzardom of the Light, the Demon Lord finally advances through Animania into Hellion territory, finding himself in a slave market. He launches a full-on war against the Hellions in order to free the enslaved humans. What will happen when the Grand Devil Belphegor, Olgan’s father, hears word of this? The Demon Lord plunges further into the turmoils of this fantasy world, as he continues to search for the truth behind this world and his place in it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J-Novel Club
• Release date: Nov 23, 2020
• ISBN: 9781718363069

Book preview

The Military Leader and the Village of Rabbi — Part 1

Harts opened his eyes, his vision graced with a shower of sunbeams piercing through the treetops and through the window. He found himself in white bedsheets, looking up at the spotless ceiling.

(I’m alive...) Harts realized as various fragments of memories replayed in his mind. What started with the clash of the Tzardom and the Satanists became a hellish battleground, even dragging an ancient devil and mock-angel into the mix. (My legs...) He carefully tried to move his legs, the same that allowed him to sprint through numerous battlefields and decimate countless foes, only to find that he could feel them both. He had the vivid memory of them being destroyed, but now he felt no pain. Not even the dull aches that he often felt which seemed to signify the inevitability of aging. (Is this his doing, too...?) A shiver ran down his spine as he recalled the events involving the man who disintegrated the Tzardom troupe with lightning bolts that resembled divine wrath. The same man who blew up that all-too-powerful mock-angel with a single blow.

(No wonder he calls himself the Demon Lord...) Harts grinned in self-deprecation. He really was the Demon Lord, after all. (No one believed such rumors. Even I didn’t pay them any mind.) He had only ever considered the Demon Lord a sketchy figure that tried to weasel power out of Luna or the Madam. Such lowlifes were rampant in any time or place. Those scam artists were destined for tragic ends, either disappearing from the limelight or this world altogether. This time, however, things were different.

(He’s the real Demon Lord. The Fallen Angel Lucifer has returned from the realm of myths...) A dark cloud swept over Harts. Not he, nor anyone else at this point, could possibly imagine what this would mean for Holylight. Besides, he had something more pressing on his mind. (I don’t think anyone can stop them...) The Holy Maiden Luna had awakened her potential and vanquished that powerful devil. Combined with the Madam’s political influence, abundant wealth, and powerful connections, the eastern and southern parts of Holylight were as good as theirs. The Demon Lord alone more than made up for their lack of an army. Harts had no doubt in his mind that all of his best men combined would be reduced to dust in the blink of an eye by that walking, talking supernatural force that called a mock-angel a ‘hunk of metal.’ (What can I do...?) He held the destiny of not only his entire clan, but of every militaristic noble and their families in his hands. Harts sat up and closed his eyes to contemplate. This wasn’t a problem with a simple solution.

Just then, the man with such a solution gave a rhythmic knock on his door.

Hey, old man. How’re you feeling?

Sir Tahara, was it...? I feel surprisingly well, thanks to you.

Good to hear. You have to conduct the whole army with those hands, after all.

Finally, Harts realized that his twisted arms were healed as good as new. He had been too preoccupied by the fact that his trusty legs were healed. (My arms, too...?) At this point, a delayed sense of fear curdled within Harts. What sort of power could provide such incredible healing?

Sensing that, Tahara nonchalantly answered, "We’ve got a good doctor. Her tendencies aside, she knows how to fix people."

Doctor...

Your old friend Sambo got treated here, too.

Now that you... mention it... At the time, Harts couldn’t stand the fact that he owed a favor to the Madam, his political enemy. Now, he realized that he owed a favor to someone much more dangerous. I have a few questions for you, Sir.

Hm? If I got the answers, I’ll give them to you. Tahara lit the cigarette in his mouth without the slightest show of bedside manners.

How far along is your coup d’etat...?

That’s quite the icebreaker, Tahara answered with the same old grin and took a long drag of his cigarette, despite Hart’s piercing question.

Harts observed Tahara’s expression and movements from inhale to exhale, but he was the portrait of composure. Harts, a skilled strategist, was now sure of one thing. (A coup is nothing out of the ordinary for them...) In fact, it seemed as if it was an everyday occurrence, or so Harts thought. They took on overthrowing governments with the same attitude as eating breakfast in the morning. Why wouldn’t anyone eat breakfast in the morning? Harts also sensed that he would gain nothing by attempting any sort of bluff or deal with Tahara.

More accurately, Tahara had no grandiose objective like a coup d’etat. He only knew that there was no way the Demon Lord of the Empire would remain content running a remote village. His unquenchable ambition would turn to the entire world sooner or later. It was also Hakuto Kunai’s motive to secure any and all power and maintain that which he seized, then expand his rule by using anything at his disposal as stepping stones. In all senses of the term, a coup would be a day-to-day thing for Tahara.

Don’t have to blow things out of proportion, old man, he jested. Don’t you know that water flows in the path of least resistance...? Suddenly, Tahara’s grin had been wiped away. To him, the Demon Lord gaining power was an inevitable course of nature.

Harts was astounded by Tahara’s brazenness. What do you plan... to do with my country...? he asked through gritted teeth.

Don’t ask me. The Secretary’s got his own plans, Tahara answered as usual. He wasn’t refusing to answer, but simply didn’t grasp the entirety of the Demon Lord’s plan... or so he thought. In reality, the Demon Lord had no elaborate strategy or forethought here. None whatsoever. Even Tahara couldn’t deduce what didn’t exist. In fact, the feeling of being left in the dark had only accelerated Tahara’s overestimation of the Demon Lord. If the Demon Lord had known any of this, he would have begged for Tahara to just chill.

I’ll change my question... Harts said. What do you think of it, Sir?

Huh? Me? I just want my Great Angel to live in peace, Tahara answered with a straight face.

Harts was left utterly confused. Great... Angel? Is that supposed to be a metaphor? Or a codename?

It’s my... sister. Tahara said, staring into the distance with a gentle smile. His expression grew more amused as he seemed to imagine his reunion with her. Even Tahara’s infamous poker face didn’t stand a chance against the thought of his little sister.

Your sister’s... the Great Angel? Are you trying to throw me off? Give me a straight answer, Sir.

I am, man. It’s the straightest answer there is. She’s all I got, Tahara declared, almost offended. In truth, he had no other goal in life than for his sister Manami to live a peaceful life. In order for his sister to live comfortably and in peace, he had to set up an iron-tight rule on Holylight. He took pride in all of his construction projects because they were going to facilitate convenience and comfort for his sister. Moreover, it was only natural that Tahara strove for a total rule of this world and all of its nations without any seeds of a rebellion in order to maximize Manami’s safety.

I don’t get it... I don’t understand what you’re saying, Sir... Harts shook his head, exhausted. He couldn’t even tell if Tahara was trying to mislead him or brush the topic under the rug. As a level-headed man, Harts couldn’t very well understand that Tahara wanted to construct a single-nation rule over the world solely for his sister. Even if Tahara had said so outright, it would only confuse Harts more.

I sent someone for old man Sambo. Just relax until you get picked up. Try the public bath. Tahara walked out of the room with a wave of the hand.

Harts had barely understood a thing Tahara had said. He had no concept of a ‘public bath,’ and couldn’t imagine what it would be like or how he could relax in it. (What an elusive man... But he is the Demon Lord Lucifer’s right hand, beyond any doubt. He spoke of Sambo rather familiarly...) Harts gazed out the window, and utterly depleted, he let out a deep sigh. He was looking for a distraction outside, but found the most astonishing sight. "Am I really in the village of Rabbi...? he muttered to himself. As far as he could recall, the village had been a desolate settlement of Bunnies in the middle of a fruitless wasteland. It had always been a forsaken land similar to the land of the militaristic nobles. But now, the streets were bustling with people, goods, and the frantic carriage traffic of a bona-fide trade port. Harts looked in the distance beyond the village borders to find a chain of carriages extending into the horizon, each piled high with cargo. What is happening in this village...?"

A gentle knock came from the door, and in came the figure behind the village’s metamorphosis: the empress of high society, the Madam herself.

How are your injuries?

...Much better.

I’m glad you’re all right. I heard you fought valiantly.

Harts didn’t respond, but looked down in thought. If the Madam had made such a comment on any of their previous encounters, Harts would have dismissed it as sarcasm. This time, however, it sounded genuine. Moreover, Harts realized that the Madam had lost a significant amount of weight since he last saw her. Harts was a noble, too. He had enough social etiquette to subtly compliment a woman’s appearance or attire, but the Madam’s appearance had changed much too dramatically. Her enormous silhouette, which previously overwhelmed anybody she stood across from, had become surprisingly thin. He was sure that she would be the talk of the party if she ever returned to high society with her current physique. Harts couldn’t help but remember the word his subordinate had used to describe the Madam’s move: ‘rehabilitation.’ Had she fallen too ill to eat?

"Forgive my intrusion... But are you well, Madam?"

The perceptive Madam immediately picked up on Harts’ implication. She brought her fan up to her mouth as a smile broke out. He had practically complimented her for losing so much weight. The comment carried more weight coming from Harts, the epitome of boorishness. I’m perfectly healthy, don’t you worry. Yu checks on me every day.

I see...

Prolonged silence came over the room. The pair had always been at each other’s throats, which wasn’t exactly conducive to small talk. While Harts had a million questions for the Madam, he stubbornly refused to speak up first. Ordinarily, silence would have remained until one of them left the other, or until they started a barrage of back-handed comments.

Today, however, the Madam quietly began conversation. Thank you for protecting little Luna...

No need for your thanks, Madam. I am expected to protect the Holy Maidens, Harts countered. In fact, Harts was only fulfilling his duty by fighting to protect Luna. He certainly didn’t expect any praise or gratitude from anyone for it.

I still want to thank you. She is a dear friend of mine.

Harts widened his eyes. He had expected the Madam to prop Luna up as the puppet symbol for their coup, but not to call Luna a friend. He couldn’t help but recall how Luna faced down the giant devil to protect an old friend. These thoughts only made things more difficult for Harts. His drive to stop their ambitious quest for power was deteriorating, somehow. A friend, you say... What do you plan to do with the demi-human?

Little Eagle, you mean? She’s being dragged all over the village right now. Little Luna really wanted to show her off to everybody. The Madam giggled, remembering how proud Luna was when she was first brought Eagle to the Hot Springs Resort.

Our relationship with the Tzardom will only worsen. Worst case, there’ll be war. Just as he said this, Harts regretted it. This wasn’t the topic he wanted to broach at all. The question he really wanted to ask was what the Demon Lord and the empress before him wanted to do with this country.

Much to his surprise, the Madam gave him something close to an answer. I don’t know anything about a war. I only serve the will of the Demon Lord.

That’s quite the way to put it. You make it sound like you consider him your master...

Who among us could defy the Fallen Angel?

I— Harts choked on his words. After witnessing the Demon Lord’s supernatural strength, he couldn’t imagine even one way in which he could defy the man. Even if he only considered the Demon Lord’s strength in combat, he failed to picture any force that could put up a fight. Barring the return of the Great Light who fought against Lucifer over the world in the days of old, any form of resistance seemed pathetically futile... But that was in the realm of myths, far from reality. What is he going to do with this country? How will he rule it...? Aren’t you afraid of that, Madam?

Rule, you say...? The Madam imagined the nation under the Demon Lord’s rule. She pictured wells in every settlement, the people rejoicing over never having to worry about water again. Workers who went to the public bath every night, rinsing away their fatigue along with their grime. Then she imagined the expansive construction projects reaching every corner of Holylight. Her heart beat faster at the imagery. It was as if she was living a myth. Considering that sort of future as a reality, the Madam couldn’t believe how hopeless she felt over her fattening body not so long ago. What she used to consider a curse had been shriveling away in agony, screaming its swan song like an elegant tune to the Madam’s ears. She was ready to welcome the Demon Lord’s rule with open arms based on that factor alone, not to mention the elimination of poverty that it was sure to bring.

I see... A very flourishing nation, she answered after a period of careful consideration.

Harts had not expected that answer. Flourish...? At the hand of the Demon Lord? The Fallen Angel? Had the Madam gone insane? Forgive me for saying so, but it seems you don’t know your history. In the days of old, the Fallen Angel ruled the night, creating a hellish world where Hellions thrived. The people yearned for light, long awaiting for the morning to come.

Have you seen that world with your own eyes, Harts?

Ridiculous. I am talking about a time when gods—

"I don’t concern myself with something that might have happened... What? Tens of thousands of years ago? I believe what I see with my own eyes. The Madam’s response stung Harts. He had always relied on those he saw and trusted of his own volition, regardless of their status or power, and had survived deadly battlefields with them. He had survived by trusting the right people with his life. If I end up paying for that judgment, the Madam continued, I have no one to blame but myself."

Harts gazed up at the Madam. Despite her collected tone, her expression shone with determination—passion that superseded any calculation of profit or self-preservation. (Why must all of them be so difficult to handle...?) Harts let out a long sigh, thirsting for a strong glass of wine. First he was moved by Luna saving her friend, then the Demon Lord’s right-hand man dropped the ‘Great Angel’ bomb, and now the Madam had hit him with a foolish, yet irrefutable, sentiment that reflected his own core beliefs. Harts was beginning to feel like a clown, and nearly burst out in laughter at how comical it all was. (What would be the point in fighting them...?) His resolve was wavering. In reality, the military nobles lived on unprofitable land, and had to keep one eye open against potential invasions from the Northern Nations. They had no business sticking their neck into any central conflict. As poor as they were, the military nobles had to harvest and store for the deadly winter ahead.

Harts climbed out of his bed and stood looking out the window. The hustle and bustle of the streets was composed of humans, Bunnies, and demi-humans, all naturally getting along. It wasn’t a sight he could have seen anywhere in Holylight before this. He accepts the demi-humans, does he...? Harts blurted out, partially because the silence between him and the Madam was growing uncomfortable.

Firebrands, too.

"Then devils and Hellbeasts, I suppose?! What is this but the return of the ruler of night?" Harts snarled, rather recklessly. If a myth was about to become reality, he didn’t know if he should lament over it or simply laugh and embrace it.

If you’re so concerned about it, the Madam proposed, why don’t you see for yourself what his rule is like? The answer is right there in front of you. No need for any historical documents.

You make it sound so easy... Harts grunted, but couldn’t counter the proposal with anything substantial. It was as if his mother had told him with a chuckle to stop theorizing about everything on paper and step outside of his own room. Surely, the Madam was one of the few people in the country who could be so blunt with Harts, the leader of the military nobles.

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That drove of carriages outside... Are those all what you’ve imported?

That’s right, the Madam answered. A lot of construction materials, recreational consumables, fabric, accessories...

It seems you’re ready to spend your entire fortune on him... Apparently, the Fallen Angel excels at charming women. Indeed, that part was left out of history.

Unbothered by Hart’s sarcasm, the Madam nonchalantly made a proposal. If you like, I’d be happy to show you around the village.

(What is she scheming...?!) Harts thought. The Madam was much too important of a figure to offer herself as a mere tour guide, especially for her sworn political rival. It was a dangerous move on her part, and might have signaled to anyone from Holylight that the Madam had joined forces with Harts. Noble society was a war zone of status and appearance, after all. One wrong move, no matter how small, could cost a noble everything they’d worked for. Harts turned to the Madam, trying to dig into the heart of the matter. The famous lady of House Butterfly as my tour guide? That’ll be quite the tale to bring home. He reiterated her proposal, making sure she understood the implications of such an offer.

Oh, I always thought you were rather insensitive, but it seems you have a soft spot, after all. The Madam laughed, as if to tell Harts that she was well aware. Harts, on the other hand, was taken aback. "I’m sure you wouldn’t want to be seen like that. I’ve prepared a few things so you can make yourself presentable. Meet me outside when you’re ready," the Madam commanded and left the room. As soon as she did, many maids filed into the room with all sorts of clothes and accessories in hand. Kyon and Momo were among them.

She’s well prepared... Please exit the room, once you’ve dropped off what you have. Men of the north don’t need women to help them change.

Many nobles had handmaidens serve them at every opportunity, from changing their clothes to feeding them, but not the military nobles. As a matter of fact, they counted on even their wives and children to contribute meaningfully. Whenever there was an invasion, drought, or cold front, they all shared the same fate, one way or another. Every single one of them had to work together to survive. What use would someone be if the nobles treated them like interior decor? Moreover, angering a northern woman, who fought, cooked, and raised children, resulted in disastrous consequences. While the militaristic nobles were often looked down upon as being barbaric, most of them were wonderful husbands and fathers. This might have been a factor that contributed to why women with nowhere to go often found themselves in northern Holylight.

Excuse us. The maids obediently left the room, save for Kyon and Momo. They were wearing their farming gear today in lieu of their bunny suits, but still looked as adorable as ever.

Can you two leave me, please? You don’t need to help me with anything.

We’ll just take the clothes you’re wearing... Hoppity.

We’ll wash them, hippity.

As this was his first encounter with Bunnies, Harts raised a brow at their catchphrases. No... I’ll do the laundry myself. Northern men take care of themselves.

The Bunnies were dauntless, either by nature or because they had been desensitized by interacting with characters who were (in more ways than one) exceedingly extraordinary.

Laundry’s easier when we do it together... Hoppity.

Now strip ’em, Grandpa. Hippity.

W-Wait a minute... Hey, you! Harts protested, but Momo came around behind him and pulled his hospital